


Collector of Broken Things

by round_robin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Come Shot, Destiny, Episode: s01e08 Much More, Established Relationship, F/M, Lazy Sex, M/M, Magic, Post-Season/Series 01, Rough Sex, Timelines, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22417477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: Destiny. Geralt never put much store by it. All his life, he was either in the right place, or the wrong place, and that was enough for him. But destiny seemed to have her own ideas, if the Lion Cub of Cintra curled up in his arms was anything to go by.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 117





	Collector of Broken Things

**Author's Note:**

> At first, I didn't want to write anything post season 1. It was going to be Sherlock all over again: I predict what might happen, get it super wrong (like everyone else) and have to tag all my fics with "season 1 canon only." BUT, I feel relatively safe with just a quick snippet of the moment after he finds Ciri.
> 
> Also, I feel weird having sex in the same fic as adoptive family bonding, but it all goes together. Enjoy!

1.

Destiny. Geralt never put much store by it. All his life, he was either in the right place, or the wrong place, and that was enough for him.

But destiny seemed to have her own ideas, if the Lion Cub of Cintra curled up in his arms was anything to go by. She was probably a bit old to be cradled like this, but after what she'd been through (Geralt knew some, not all, he'd get the full story soon enough) he thought Ciri deserved a little kindness. He sat in the merchant's house, holding tight to his Child Surprise, listening to the merchant argue with his wife.

“You're going to let him take her?” she demanded. They were outside in the barn and probably thought they were being quiet, they didn't quite take a Witcher's keen ears into account. “I just rescued her from a gang of brutes, and you want to hand her to another?”

“I don't have a choice!” Yurga, the merchant, said. “She is his, by the Law of Surprise, they both confirmed it! Even if she wasn't, I offered him the Law of Surprise for saving my life. If he took it, she'd be his as well!”

 _Now that was something_ , Geralt thought, _twice a Child Surprise_. He didn't know the law on that but it probably didn't happen often.

He held Ciri closer and she sighed, twisting her fingers in his hair.

“Besides,” Yurga said, dropping his voice low. “He saved my life. He didn't have to. I owe him for that, at least.”

Zola said nothing for a long moment, then two sets of feet scraped against the ground, returning to the house.

As soon as the door opened, Geralt took his eyes off Ciri for the first time, looking squarely at Zola. “I promised her grandmother I'd keep her safe, and I make you the same promise. My promise is a contract, only broken on pain of death.”

All the fight drained out of Zola's shoulders as she took in the scene: the scared mute girl she rescued, finally calm and peaceful in the arms of a Witcher. Destiny moved in mysterious ways, and this was where Ciri was supposed to be, in Geralt's arms and not hers.

“Stay for a few days, at least,” she said. “So you both can recover your strength.”

Geralt eyed Ciri. She wasn't asleep and pale blue-gray eyes met his, the deep shadows of hunger ringing them in a way Geralt really didn't like. He held her closer. “I'd appreciate it. If you'll have us.”

“Oh course we will!” Yurga said. “I still owe you that ale.”

They all sat down together and Yurga pored the drinks while Zola fetched something to eat. Geralt took his mug with one hand, the other locked around Ciri, the lion cub turned wolf cub.

2.

The inn door swung shut behind him. Geralt had three goals in mind: food, sleep, job, and now he was one step closer to completing the first two.

“What are you doing here?” A familiar voice sliced through the air, bringing the whole pub to a deafening silence.

Geralt followed the angry voice to find Yennefer of Vengerberg stomping towards him. He arched an eyebrow at her. “I have a job in this town.”

“Fuck you do,” Yennefer hissed, stopping in front of him. A knight followed her—young and stupid, probably how she liked them, easier to trick—his hand on his sword. Yes, definitely stupid. “How'd you follow me? Your magic isn't strong enough for that.”

“I'm not following you. I have a job here.”

“Hey, Witcher!” a man on the other side of the pub shouted. He nodded towards the back room. “Don't keep the Castellan waiting!”

Geralt pointed a finger in his direction. “See?”

An irritated muscle in Yennefer's jaw jumped as she grit her teeth. “Then do your job and leave. I'm tired of you crossing my path.” She turned with a flourish of heavy skirts, retreating to a table as far away from Geralt as possible. Her knight of the season retreated slower, his eyes watching Geralt until they were a safe distance away.

Geralt shook his head and went to talk to the Castellan, the chatter in the pub creeping back up, like a psycho mage hadn't just shouted at the first Witcher most of these people had ever seen.

While he'd planned to go after the monster in the morning, the Castellan urged him to take care of it quickly, for the sake of his people. Yennefer's presence spurred him along as well, so Geralt paid for a room and headed out, planning to rest when he was done, and get the hell out of town at first light.

It wasn't hard to find, stalking the forked road out of town. Some monsters liked forked roads, made it easy to pick off those who took the wrong path.

The battle wasn't long, or hard, more muddy than bloody due to the recent rain storm. With blood on his sword and mud in his armor, Geralt entered the inn through the back door, hoping not to track filth everywhere... hoping not to run into Yennefer.

But there was no escape. Her familiar silhouette, clad in a nearly shear silk robe, stood at the top of the stairs. “You're filthy,” she said. “Come, I have a bath waiting.” Used to playing her games, Geralt followed her into her room.

He stepped through the door into a cavernous space with high vaulted ceilings. A large bed made with the finest linen sheets sat next to a roaring fire, a large tub on the other side of the hearth, big enough for two.

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. “I didn't know shit hole inns in shit hole towns had state rooms.”

“It's a bit bigger than I'd normally do. This spell takes better to solid walls than tents and I haven't had this much room in a while.” She stroked her hand across the surface of the water, checking the temperature. “Get in.”

Geralt started stripping his armor, splattering mud on the magically pristine floor. “Where is your escort?”

“Asleep in his room.” All things tended too, Yennefer laid herself out on the bed, violet eyes watching Geralt strip.

“Asleep like Jaskier?” Geralt asked. Oh yes, he remembered the _healing sleep_ Yennefer used a few years ago. While he felt no pity for the foolish boy playing knight, he knew what Yennefer's magic could do and it made him suspicious.

His armor gone, now the trouble was pulling the mud caked shirt and breeches from his skin. The mud had dried in some spots, adding an extra layer of difficulty.

Yennefer smirked. “Not as deep. I didn't want him to... interrupt.”

“Interrupt what?” Armor and clothes gone, Geralt stepped into the bath and groaned as the hot water touched his skin. It was far too hot for a human, maybe even too hot for a mage, but to his enhanced senses, it was perfect, just what he needed after a long ride and a hunt.

He sank down into the bath, the mud coloring the water. He scrubbed as much from his skin as he could find before settling back for a nice soak. Yennefer wrinkled her nose at the dirty water and got up from the bed, with one touch of her fingers and a whisper of magic, the water cleared, the smells of lavender and chamomile rising with the steam. Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt saw the scars on her wrists. She never seemed to hide those from him...

Geralt leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He didn't have to watch Yennefer to know where she was or what she was doing, he could sense her. Yet... it wasn't the same as when he sensed a monster, something different all together. “You tell me to get out of town, then invite me for a bath.”

“Are you saying you don't appreciate my invitation?”

“I'm saying you're very contrary. A hard woman to pin down.”

“I remember you pinned me down quite well last time.”

Geralt opened one eye to see the smoldering smile on her lips. _So_ , he thought, _that's what she wants._ He didn't know why he was surprised, it's what she always wanted.

Closing his eyes again, he extended one arm out of the bath, turning his palm up towards her, waiting. Soft skin slid against his fingers for a moment before the water rippled and rose. Geralt opened his eyes to find Yennefer hovering inches from his face, her lips plush and irresistible.

But those lips did not touch his. Instead, Yennefer ran a soapy sponge across Geralt's chest, the soft peaks of her nipples rubbing against him with each swipe. She continued around his back, down his arms, her body rubbing deliciously against his with each movement. When she deemed him clean enough, strong hands (not as strong as Jaskier's) massaged his sore muscles. As she brushed against him over and over, his hands somehow ended up around her hips. Yennefer didn't seem to mind.

“I thought you wanted me gone,” he said, thumbs rubbing the hollows near her hip bones. “You still haven't told me why the sudden change of heart.” To be fair, she hadn't answered any of his questions, but that one seemed the most important. This afternoon, Geralt would have bet good money Yennefer might kill him, and now she wanted him in her bed?

Her hands on his muscles stilled, violet eyes burning into gold. “You confound me, Geralt of Rivia. You Witchers with your complicated little spells, potions that could kill a man... how are you so different from humans, yet so close to a mage? It doesn't make sense. _You_ don't make sense.”

Nails scraped against his skin and Geralt groaned. Getting a secure grip on her hips, he lifted her and stood up, moving both of them out of the bath and slamming Yennefer against the wall. Her face twitched in pain, but she could handle it, mages were sculpted to last the test of time, and she'd probably had worse. Probably from him.

“I don't make sense? Who are you to talk, sorceress? Taught to tap into Chaos and balance it. There is no balance in Chaos, that's where the power comes from. No wonder the elves think you've perverted it. You're making it harder on yourselves.”

She wriggled in his arms, her plush cunt brushing against his cock. Her lips brushed his as well, so close to a kiss. “So what are we to do about this?” she whispered.

Geralt couldn't say who moved first, only that several things happened all at once. Yennefer's teeth latched onto his lip as nails dug into his arms, and he swooped them over to the bed, plunging inside before her back even hit the covers. They both moaned, already panting at the bruising pace Geralt set and Yennefer urged on with her legs clamped around his hips.

His hips snapped to meet hers with each thrust and she arched, pressing her breasts into his face. His teeth grabbed for a nipple, a little more gentle here. Yennefer pulled his hair and squeezed the breath from his lungs, shouting and moaning the whole way.

When he felt his orgasm building, he held tighter, moving her the way he needed (which was usually the way she needed too) and thrusting one last time. Yennefer arched back impossibly farther and came, her muscles squeezing around Geralt, bringing him over with her.

They collapsed onto the bed.

“Care to conjure another bath?” Geralt mumbled into her neck, kissing the salty skin while he was still allowed.

After collecting herself, Yennefer did just that. Once they were clean again, she settled into the bed, patting the sheets next to her. “Stay?”

Geralt gave in, knowing he'd always give Yennefer what she asked of him, and laid down next to her. She didn't scoot closer and smother him with her embrace, like Jaskier was wont to do, but she stayed within arm's reach, creating a strange sort of intimacy.

While Geralt's stamina meant he could easily please Yennefer all night, his eyes started to drop the moment his head hit the pillow. Yennefer stroked her fingers across his cheek. “This time, it's my turn to leave first,” he thought he heard her say. But he was already fast asleep.

The next morning, Geralt woke in his own room, Yennefer nowhere to be found.

3.

Nimble fingers traced down Geralt's side, tickling more than he cared to admit. When lips touched the same scar, he twitched away. “Don't do that. Whores touch my scars. You aren't my whore.”

“No,” Jaskier scoffed, “but I am your bard. I need inspiration. Your skin is a tapestry of stories. If you won't tell them to me, I'll trace them on my own, thank you very much.” He went on, letting his fingers and lips explore every inch of skin Geralt allowed, which was all of it. Geralt was never really serious when he told Jaskier to knock it off. Not in this instance, at least.

“This one,” he tapped the gash on Geralt's thigh, “looks like a knife. Too smooth to be a fang or a claw.”

Geralt grunted, which told Jaskier that he was right. Geralt hated when Jaskier was right.

“You don't like them.” It wasn't a question. “I thought you'd be... indifferent to your scars. After all, they are a mark of your trade, in a way. Show's that you're good at it.” Jaskier dipped his head and kissed one particularly nasty scar slicing through Geralt's pectoral. It looked like someone tried to carve out his heart, thus proving its existence.

Geralt sighed, and a rare fit of honesty seized his tongue. “They show that I am a broken thing. Broken away from humanity in order to protect them... but they no longer want my protection. Yet I still bare the remains of all I've done for them.”

Jaskier stopped kissing and lifted his head. “Words like that, you'd make a half decent bard.” A small frown crossed his face. “You might even be better than me. Don't know how I feel about that.” He went back to kissing, trailing little pecks all over Geralt's chest, appreciating scarred skin along with smooth.

Geralt chuckled. “That's all I need. Switch to a profession people hate even more.” Geralt expected Jaskier to push back, go on about how bards filled the essential human need for entertainment and made every room they entered shine like the sun, made all wine taste better, and so on, and so on. He definitely did not expect what actually came out of Jaskier's mouth.

“Do you know why everyone hates bards?” He laid his head on Geralt's chest, those impossibly blue (impossibly beautiful) eyes staring right through him.

“Because every tune sounds the same?” Geralt tried.

Jaskier shook his head. “Because we speak the truth. Our version of the truth, granted, the world how we see it. But no one wants to hear the truth, they want fanciful stories.”

They both went quiet for a moment, Jaskier staring into his eyes, Geralt unable to look away...

“Besides,” Jaskier said, resuming his kisses. “You are a collector of broken things. We find you, swirl around you like destiny draws us, you the warm center of the Continent, binding us back together. Renfri, the elves...”

“You?” Geralt finished for him, doubt clear in his voice. “How are you broken Jaskier?” No, he wouldn't make a joke about Jaskier's need to hide his sausage in the wrong pantry, or how he was a bottomless pit of need sometimes, Geralt wanted a real answer. For once, this felt like a real conversation, and he wasn't about to back out like he normally would, not when Jaskier was being so forthcoming.

Jaskier chuckled softly, so quiet, it was barely a sound. “There are many things you don't know about me. Do you really think my parents named me after a flower?”

Geralt tensed a little, Jaskier's comforting weight on his chest suddenly dangerous. It had never occurred to him that he didn't know the man he traveled with, the man he fucked, the man he let see him at his most vulnerable moments. But there wasn't any malice in Jaskier's words, Geralt didn't sense a sinister plan, and he of all people understood not wanting to talk about one's past... Geralt let it go. For now.

“And what am I to do with my collection?” he asked.

Jaskier shrugged. “One day, destiny will tell you.”

Geralt snorted. “Destiny? I've never put much trust in destiny.”

“That's because you're an idiot.” Geralt looked up to see the playful smirk in Jaskier's eyes, back to normal then. Good, this conversation was getting a little too honest for him.

“And now!” Jaskier stood up on his knees and ran a warm palm over Geralt's half hard cock. “You Witchers and your stamina... care for one more before bed?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighed. Swollen, well used lips smiled at him, an errant drop of come clinging to the inside of Jaskier's thighs. “I think we've used you up for the night. I'm fine.”

“Nonsense. You satisfy me, I don't mind satisfying you.” His voice dropped. “Even if it does take a lot more work. Get up.”

As soon as Geralt got to his feet, Jaskier flopped onto the bed. Geralt rolled his eyes. “You just wanted to steal my warm spot.”

“Hush, I'm trying to work.” He pat his thighs. “Come on, grumpy, straddle me. You've seen me do it to you a dozen times, you'll be able to figure it out.”

Arching an eyebrow, Geralt did as asked and threw one leg over Jaskier's slim hips. He didn't rest all his weight on Jaskier, he didn't want to crush him. While he didn't know what they were doing, his balls came to rest against the soft skin of Jaskier's inner thigh, it was... kind of nice.

Jaskier took another moment to fluff the pillows and arrange himself artfully against them, chest out, head tilted back just right. “Take yourself in hand and get a move on.”

Geralt started to slowly jerk his cock, still not sure what was happening. “Is this for me, or for you to watch?”

Jaskier shrugged, licking his lips. “Why can't it be both?”

While Geralt hadn't planned on tending to himself (Jaskier usually fulfilled most of his needs) he didn't mind, especially not with Jaskier spread out under him, hands rubbing over his own creamy skin. Blue eyes locked with his and Jaskier's thumb and forefinger squeezed tight on his own nipple, moaning softly, and...

“Oh,” Geralt sighed, his hand moving faster.

A devilish smirk flashed across Jaskier's face. “Now you're getting it.” He bit his lip and arched back, squeezing his nipples again and moaning.

It was mostly a performance, Geralt knew that, but it didn't dampen his enjoyment. His hand stroked faster, heat building in his balls until it was too much. He groaned, shooting across Jaskier's chest and stomach. The streak of his own come painting that tight stomach almost made him hard again, but after tasting the delights of Jaskier's mouth, ass, and now his sinful little display, Geralt was well and truly spent for the night.

He reached out a hand and traced a finger through the gooey streaks, painting Jaskier with his seed. “I enjoyed that.”

“See?” Jaskier dragged his fingers through Geralt's hair. “I have the best ideas.”

Geralt grunted.

If he was a collector of broken things, Jaskier was the most beautiful of them all.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to mirror the show a bit with the timeline jumble. In the case of this fic, the timeline works backwards: Geralt after he rescues Ciri thinks of the other broken people in his life, all the way back to Jaskier. Sorry to explain myself (my husband always says jokes and stories are less fun when you have to explain them) but sometimes I'm convinced an idea only works in my head and I need to explain.
> 
> It hasn't been revealed in the show yet, but Jaskier is supposed to be a pseudonym. The line about his parents naming him after a flower is, of course, because Jaskier is Polish for buttercup, which the changed to Dandelion for the English translation. Honestly, I'm glad they changed the name in the show. Can you imagine trying to write sexy stuff about a guy named Dandelion?
> 
> Hope everyone enjoyed.


End file.
